The Evolution of Miss Marjorie Dursley
by willowscribe
Summary: Marge isn't a bad person, not really.


**So this was written for a challenge by Lilybug134. I was given a random character and had to write anything about them. With my luck, I got Marge Dursley. We don't know that much about her in canon, so I hope this comes across as realistic. I hope you like it! Remember, Harry Potter most definitely is not mine. Review and I'll love you forever!**

****_The Evolution of Miss Marjorie Dursley_

Marge isn't a bad person, really.

When she was a girl, she always loved dogs. Dogs and boys, those were her two favorite things. When she was seven, she'd fancied a boy from her school called Tim. Tim was the tallest boy in her class, and he was great at kickball, so naturally all the girls wanted him. But on Valentine's Day that year, Marge slipped him a note that explained her passionate, undying love for him. She was humiliated the next day to find out that he'd showed all the other boys in her class, and she was the proud owner of the nickname "Desperate Margie."

"Desperate Margie" lasted all through primary, accompanied by a few choice others, including "Fatty", "Pig", "Loser", and, worst of all, "that girl that's always in the corner… you know, the one no one likes." One day, fed up with it all, Marge threw a punch at a girl called Lucy, broke her nose, and was suspended for a full week.

After that, Marge didn't hear the nicknames to her face, but she always knew that they were circulating behind her back.

But Marge isn't a bad person, really.

Sure, as she got older and began secondary school, she began stress-eating. It wasn't hard. At that point, Marge already knew that no one cared about her. So she ate to hide her problems, buried them in servings of ice cream and cake. Her little brother, Vernon, had the unfortunate luck of following her reputation, and that fact that he was a bit chunky didn't help either. Marge spent her adolescence fat, spotty, and thoroughly unliked.

The day she asked for a fag, though, changed her entire life. Lighting up for the first time, helped by the group of loners she'd stumbled across, Marge suddenly had, if not friends, company that could stand to look her in the eye. Every day after school, she'd join them, blackening her lungs for the illusion of friendship, the trade-off she'd already decided was more than worth it.

It lasted until the day that the group invited a new member in. Jacob was dark and cool and he disapproved of Marge enough to get the tides to turn against her. Finally, out of pure frustration with him, Marge pressed the lit end of her fag to Jacob's cheek and stormed away. From what she found out later, Jacob would always have a round, lumpy burn scar on his face.

But Marge isn't a bad person, really.

Marge got her A-Levels, went to uni, did everything right. But no matter what she did, no one seemed to like her. After a week of boarding with her, her roommate at uni found an excuse to move into a student home, leaving Marge alone. After a month of working in a shop, the owner found an excuse to fire her simply because the customers didn't like her when she tried to help them. And though she graduated with pride, Marge continued to eat more and more. And though she had no circle of smoker friends anymore, Marge continued to light up, desperate for the calm it afforded her.

So Marge vowed to prove all those who hated her and doubted her wrong. She'd done everything right, gotten all the grades, gone to the right schools. Wasn't that what they'd always said? Those who were bullied would be the bosses of those who did the bullying? Wasn't that what was supposed to happen?

But Marge could only work her way up the corporate ladder if she didn't get into shouting matches with her boss and get herself fired first.

Marge isn't a bad person, really!

Eventually, Marge decided her best bet for success was to marry a rich man. She certainly didn't mind the idea of staying at home all the time, doing as she pleased. She finally settled on a doctor by the name of Max Cartwright, a charming fellow with a large moustache and a pet Doberman. For once, Marge was in her element. The dog, Albie, liked her well enough, and for some odd reason, Max seemed to enjoy her presence. They amused each other for hours by sharing their feelings about the world, from the fools in Parliament to the hooligans on the streets and everything in between. Max was a kindred spirit, a twice divorcee who'd been left by women who were easily offended by all of his strong opinions and drinking habit. Marge, who at this point sustained a drinking habit of her own, was not offended by either of these things, and so they got along famously.

After precisely six months of near daily visits, Max proposed to Marge. It wasn't romantic, per say, but it was over a dinner of steak and potatoes, which were two of Marge's favorite things, so she let it slide and said yes anyway. Two months after that they were married, and six months after that, Max was dead.

At the funeral, both of Max's ex-wives showed up and lamented the fact that they hadn't parted from Max on better terms. They were complete bimbos, the both of them, skinny with big doe-like eyes and long, luscious hair. Marge was stout with thin, wispy hair that sometimes broke off and left her with a tiny bald spot. Finally, completely frustrated with the both of them, Marge locked them in the church bathroom when they went to fix their makeup before the procession to the graveyard.

Marge isn't a bad person, though, really.

She never wanted any children. Even if she might have thought about it when Max was alive, it was too late. Marge knew she never stood a chance of remarrying, nor would she ever want to. Thanks to Max, she had enough money to last a lifetime and no one to spend it with. Eventually she began to adopt dogs of all sorts. Albie followed her around constantly, as if hoping Max would turn up if he stalked her every move. But there were other dogs that Marge became the mother of, dogs that no one else would ever want. A pug here, a pit bull there, and all cared for by Marge. She fed them the same food she ate and gave them the same wine to drink. With Max's money, she managed to buy a country estate, where she erected a fence around a large yard and let them all run free. And if she kicked one from time to time because she was frustrated, who would know the difference?

No matter what she did to them, the dogs loved her anyway. And wasn't that all she'd ever asked for, to be loved no matter what she did or how she acted?

Marge isn't a bad person, really.

She never had any friends. She was strong-willed, opinionated, and rude. She had her certain way of thinking and believed that she was always right. She cared only for her dogs. She sustained a smoking and drinking habit the rest of her life. She never stopped stress-eating. She never cared about hurting feelings and she never loved again.

But Marge isn't a bad person. Not really.


End file.
